


My FBI Agent

by manicmagicat



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Crack Treated Seriously, FBI Agent, Light Angst, M/M, New York City, Oblivious Simon Snow, Pining, Reunions, i think this counts as, publishing baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicmagicat/pseuds/manicmagicat
Summary: Simon Snow is an FBI agent now, thanks to his foster father Davy. It's just a typical day at work when he gets his new list of assignments to watch. To his surprise, his childhood friend and high school obsession Baz Pitch is on the list.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. Simon Snow: FBI

Sometimes I wonder how I got lucky enough to be working for the FBI. I have Davy to thank for the job, like most of the good things in my life. I unwrap the plastic from my sandwich, taking a bite and flipping through the list of my new assignments. I skim over the first page and make it halfway through the next before my mind registers what it's just seen. I flip back to the first page, tearing the paper and fumbling my sandwich in my hurry. My heart skips a beat as I read the name that can’t possibly be on my paper right now. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. It can’t be him. But God, it’s not like two people could have been cursed with that elegant disaster of a name. 

I spent our entire childhood obsessed with Baz. I just wanted to be his friend so badly. I had the biggest friend crush ever on him, and then even when we were friends I always wanted to spend more time around him. My face rushes with warmth as I think about the times I spent following him around like a lost puppy, watching him. I guess old habits die hard. 

I force myself to slow down. I take a deep breath and finish the rest of my sandwich. I don’t need to check right now. This can wait. He’s just a normal assignment. Nothing special. Nothing special about the fact that I used to go to every single soccer practice just to watch him play. Nothing special about the fact that we used to make each other playlists in highschool and carpool home. Nothing special about the fact that we haven’t talked since we left for college and I’m now his personal FBI agent. Deep breaths, Simon. 

I type my username and password into my computer. I try to convince myself that my hands are always this shakey. I wonder if he’s still as fit as he used to be, and then I try to stop thinking of that. It was one thing to be jealous of his looks in school, but it’d be a bit immature even for me to feel that way now.

I pull up my list of assignments and scroll down until I find his name. I double click on it to bring up his active feeds. A video stream that’s labeled as his work computer’s camera comes up first. I’m glad no one else is in the room to hear my sharp intake of breath when I see him. He’s in an office that’s modern but not obscenely grandiose like I would’ve pictured. His hair is pulled back in a loose bun and a gray suit jacket with a lovely floral button up underneath. His eyes are narrowed a bit and there’s a hint of a crease between his brows as he scans his screen. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. The idea that I could possibly not be jealous of how gorgeous he is flies right out the window. Looking at him again, I feel like I did back in high school. 

I click over to the next feed to see what’s on his screen. It looks like some sort of manuscript, but I can’t really figure out the details. Good thing I don’t have to. I click over to his bio and check his place of employment -- Penguin Random House Publishing, New York branch. I swallow. That’s only a few streets over from where I am. I had no idea we’d ended up in the same place. I’ll have more time to read up on him later, but I can’t spend much more time with him now. I’ve already spent longer than I normally would when I’m reviewing a list of new assignments. 

I scan through the feeds of everyone else on my list. There’s nothing much of interest. There isn’t usually, they assign all of the high risk (AKA interesting) people to agents that are much more experienced than I am. But it’s especially dull knowing that I could be watching Baz instead. But I manage to make it through the rest of my day actually doing my job. I don’t allow myself to go back to his name, because I know once I do, any semblance of productivity will be over. I’ll get ahead today, then I’ll do some digging tomorrow. I pull myself away from my computer at 5:00, knowing that I won’t be able to get Baz out of my head.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since I got my newest batch of assignments. Two weeks since Baz was assigned to me, is what I mean, if I’m honest. I’ve learned a lot since then. 

He’s top of the pack at Random House, but that’s not surprising really. What is surprising is that he works for the imprint that publishes queer literature. Well, he’s the editor-in-chief of it, actually. Like I said, top of the pack. I try not to make any assumptions about what that might mean about him. I try not to think about it. But I have checked out some of the books he’s edited. I got copies of all of them in his file. I downloaded his most recent one onto my phone and I’ve been reading it on my lunch break. It’s this dragon fucking book as far as I can tell called Slain. It sounds weird but it’s actually so fucking good that I may have to finish it when I get home tonight. 

He’s excellent at his job and it pays off in his work, but sometimes I worry about him. When I scan through the last night’s feed when I get into work, I see him poring over drafts past midnight. He’s always back at it by the time I get in; it’s almost like he never stops. I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend or- or a boyfriend. He must, he’s gorgeous and brilliant. So why don’t they make sure he’s taking better care of himself?

I know I could get the answer to that so easily, but I can’t bring myself to look in the dating history folder. I know all of this is a huge invasion of privacy, but that feels like crossing a line. I can’t help hoping that he might be back in my life someday and I want to be able to make eye contact with him if that ever happens. They put nudes and everything into that folder. I blush just thinking about it. I’m jealous of his looks enough as is. Definitely not going in that folder. 

He worked through one of the weekends I was assigned, but he went back home for the other one. He’s terribly sweet with his siblings. He took Mordelia out for the day on Saturday and she hangs on his every word. He took her downtown and bought her crystals and incense that she couldn’t pull herself away from. It was kind of heart melting. She’s thirteen now and getting a bit into witchcraft and all that. I hadn’t seen her since she was so little, it’s crazy to think of how many years have passed since I went over to Baz's house and played with the kids. I feel an ache in my chest thinking about it. 

I click off of his profile and go back to my other assignments. I push out my shoulders, trying to ignore that feeling. Trying not to think about any of it. God, I wish some of my other cases were actually interesting.

  
  



	2. American Exceptionalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna give a huge shoutout to my lovely friend @nikkisunshine for helping so so much with this fic! AND for drawing my beautiful new profile pic, she is genuinely a legend and I love her.And thank you so much to everyone that's read and left kudos/comments, y'all are amazing! I just have one chapter left to write so the rest of this fic should be out pretty quickly. Enjoy!

I’m working late one Friday night when I hear it. Baz is sprawled on his couch with his friends watching a soccer game. Incidentally, they’re watching it on Baz’s smart TV. You should never get a smart TV unless you want your FBI agent watching games with you, but I’m glad Baz has one. He’s flushed from drinking and he’s laughed more than I’ve heard him laugh in awhile. It reminds me of when we used to go to bonfires at Gareth’s place in high school. 

“Baz, how the hell do I work your air conditioner? It’s fucking freezing in here!” I hear Niall call from out of the frame. 

“It’s a smart thing my father insisted on me installing. I’ll change it on my phone.” He replied off-handedly.

“Baz! There’s too much smart shit here! You know your FBI agent must be tuned into every single thing you do. He probably knows how long you spend on the toilet. You’ve got to keep some things a secret from these people!” Niall yells indignantly. He is well and truly wasted. I tense up at the mention of me. Well not me specifically but you get it. I wait to see what Baz has to say. 

“Oh, please! This again? You people need to realize that the FBI has much better things to do than watch every single one of us. Do you really think you’re that important? That meme is such a weird extension of American exceptionalism.” He scoffs.

“It’s not a meme, Baz! It’s true!”

Niall’s right on this one, obviously. It doesn’t go as far as those jokes imply; every citizen doesn’t have their own personal agent. We don’t have the manpower for that. Besides, Baz is kind of right as well. Most people's feeds are boring and unimportant and there’s just not the need for that kind of one on one attention for the average citizen. But everyone is being watched. Just because there’s a couple dozen people assigned to each agent doesn’t mean they aren’t on the right track though. I swallow and try to remind myself to keep breathing. The conversation moves on to other topics and then lulls into an easy silence as they are absorbed into the game. I reluctantly switch over to another assignment. 

* * *

That’s the last time I see Baz relax for weeks. He’s been spending all of his time raking over the most recent book he’s edited that’s about to get put on shelves. He spends all day in and out of meetings advocating for the book. It’s some new authors debut book and books like that, espeically queer lit, don’t typically get the type of budget and promotion that Baz thinks the book deserves. Apparently. I know fuck all about book publishing. But it seems like Baz is putting his neck out for this new book. The release is coming up and he’s feeling a lot of pressure for it to go well. 

My heart sinks as I watch the numbers flitting across Baz’s screen. I can’t really make heads or tails of them, but I can tell from his face that they’re not what he was hoping for. The release was last week and there was a lot riding on it. The pre-order numbers weren’t up to snuff, but Baz explained it away. He said that that’s typical for new authors and that the first weeks numbers would be the real indication of success. My hearts in my throat as I watch his eyes well up with tears. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, but the tears fall anyway. There’s a sharp knock on the door and Baz wipes at his face hard, putting his impassive mask back in place. I can’t bear to watch anymore. 

I can’t stand to watch him in pain when I can’t do anything to help. It was hard seeing him like this in high school, but at least then I was with him. At least then I could cover his hand with mine and give it a reassuring squeeze as he was driving us home after a rough day. I could bring him an extra brownie at lunch time or a coffee in the morning, one of those disgusting sugary drinks he loves. I could stop by his house at night to check on him. But I can’t do any of that now. All I can do is look on helplessly. 

I want to reach out to him so badly. I want to be a part of his life again. But we’re not allowed to contact our assignments. Technically, Baz shouldn’t even be assigned to me. I should have reported it as a conflict of interest as soon as I realized I’d been assigned someone I knew, but I didn’t. And although my stomach twists in guilty knots, I still don’t email my boss to report it.

I shake my head and stand up. I need to stretch my legs and grab a coffee. My head’s too muddled right now to get any work done without a break. I make my way down to Peet’s and order something hot and strong. My head is still swirling with thoughts of Baz and I’m not paying attention to where I'm walking as I exit the shop. I end up walking smack into someone, slopping coffee all over me and the stranger I’ve just assaulted. But then I look up and I realize I’m not looking at a stranger. I’m looking at Baz. 

  
  
  



	3. Goddamn Gucci

“Baz!” He stares at me, eyes glassy and unregistered, for a beat, then two. I see the moment that he recognizes me, his eyes lighting up.

“Simon!” He says with a grin. He moves towards me, in for a hug I think (I hope), but looks down at the sticky mess and stops in his tracks. His arm is still extended towards me for a moment, but then he drops it with a wry chuckle. My eyes are glued to him, and I watch as he drops his hand back down to his side. That’s when I notice the shirt. It's from the new Gucci spring collection. His Aunt Fiona’s just bought it for him as a gift. This is definitely the first time he’s worn it. And I’ve just ruined it. Excellent. I toss the cups into a nearby bin and scramble back inside, emerging with handfuls of napkins. There’s no need to clean the pavement at least - thank god we weren’t in the coffee shop. I move to dab some of the mess I’ve made off of Baz’s shirt. I blot for a moment, but it’s a lavender shirt and it’s covered in coffee and there’s absolutely no way my brown paper napkins are going to remedy that situation. 

“Fuck it’s no use,” I huff in frustration and embarrassment, raising back up to my full heights. “It’s goddamn Gucci; napkins aren’t going to fix it.” 

I realize I moment too late that I’ve let too much slip. He shoots me a confused look but blessedly makes no other comment on my mistake. Hopefully he just thinks I’ve become very fashion forward in the last few years and that I can recognize Gucci on sight. Given what I’m wearing right now that’s pretty unlikely, but I’m sure it would seem more likely than the truth to him. 

I clear my throat. 

“I’m so sorry, Baz. It’s so great to see you but obviously I wish I hadn’t had to dump coffee all over you to do it. At least let me get you another drink?”

I think about adding in a joke about how his outfits always were so important to him so this must be a devastating blow, but I’m not sure if I have the right to jest with Baz like I used to. To him, I’m just some old acquaintance. I don’t know if that banter would be welcome from me. I’m not really anyone to him, not anymore.

“I’ve got to go change before I head back to work,” He sighs dramatically, but I can tell he’s not really angry. He’s almost smiling. “I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow, though. Try to look where you’re walking next time, hm?”

And just like that, he’s gone. I could almost believe he had been an apparition. That is, if the coffee down my front wasn’t growing stickier by the moment to remind me it was real. It was real. I’ve just seen Baz Pitch. I have plans with Baz Pitch. I can’t get the grin off of my face for the rest of my shift. Davy goes by my office and gives me an odd look, but I just grin wider at him. God knows that man could use some cheer. He scowls and moves along, as per usual. 

* * *

My cheer only lasts so long. When I get back home, my stomach is twisted with guilt. But guilt isn’t the only thing I’m feeling. I can’t stop thinking of those few moments with Baz today. It was so different standing in front of him, so much better. He was so close I could smell his cologne, woodsy and citrusy. It’s the same one he’s been using since highschool. It was absurdly fancy for a teenage boy, but it fits him well now. The scent has invaded my brain and rid it of all rational thought. The only thoughts that are left are of the curve of his lips as he tried not to laugh at me, or of the warmth of his skin under his shirt, and the feeling of my fingers pressed to his firm chest as I tried to clean up the mess I had made. My world is colored by the stormy sea grey of his eyes and his words are my bridge across the waves. 

I’m beginning to think that my obsession with Baz wasn’t about friendship at all. I’m starting to think that I didn’t start watching Baz because of jealousy or curiosity. I’m starting to think very differently. 

I can’t stop thinking about how wrong this is. I don’t want to lie to him, but what the fuck am I supposed to say? ‘Hey babe I’m your FBI agent and I know you think that’s tosh but Niall was actually right on this one. Anyway you look so hot when you’re concentrating at work. That’s not creepy, right? I can ask you out now, right?’ I think he’d have an aneurysm on the spot. I shouldn’t have been watching him, I should’ve reported it. And now I have plans with him. I have to look him in the eyes and lie through my teeth or I have to tell him that my stalking equipment has been intensely upgraded since I used to follow him around in high school. Those are both such terrible options, but I can't think of any way for me to tell the truth and for him to not hate him. Because he should hate me for this. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do. 

* * *

Simon’s head was full of Baz the next morning when he went into work, but Baz’s feed wasn’t the first one he clicked into. If Simon had tapped into Baz’s phone that morning, he would’ve seen several panicked text messages that Baz had sent to Niall about how he had plans with his childhood love. For better or for worse, Simon did not open that feed. He did not go into Baz’s file at all that day, actually. He would get to see Baz today, and he would only see what Baz was willing to show him. -

  
  



	4. Holding Up

I’m sitting in a booth in the corner of the shop, two drinks in front of me. My leg is bouncing at supersonic speeds. I keep trying to look at my phone but I can’t even pretend that anything on it interests me right now. I think I might be sick. God, that would be so embarassing. I’m just starting to really work myself into a strop when the bell above the door rings. 

Baz walks in looking like a greek god. He’s wearing an aubergine button-up with a pattern of black leaves. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I realize how tight his black pants are. He looks wonderful, but he looks tired too. The circles under his eyes are almost as purple as his shirt. But then his eyes land on me and he gives me a soft smile, the tiredness disappearing from his face. 

He slides into the booth in front of my and raises his eyebrows at the drinks in front of us. “I ordered what you used to get in high school. I thought you might still order the same thing, considering the amount of whipped cream that spilled on me yesterday. I found some sprinkles in my hair. But I might have been wrong. I’m sorry, I should’ve waited for you to get here so I could ask what you wanted. That was stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll get you something else. What do you want?” I babble, already sliding out of the booth. 

“Sit down, Snow.” He’s smiling. Does that mean it’s okay, or is he just being nice? He can probably tell how I feel and he’s trying to let me down nicely. He must have guys throwing themselves at him all the time. He probably knows exactly what I’m on about. “It’s fine, Snow. It’s very kind of you to remember that, actually. I still get the same thing. I was just surprised to see you’d already ordered.”

I reluctantly lower myself back into the booth. I can’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes again. “Really, Snow. Thank you”

“You’re welcome,” I say, beaming up at him. He’s still a bit taller than me, even when we’re sitting. 

I try to think of what to say to him. Maybe I could try, ‘So Baz, I hear you work in queer publishing. Anything else queer in your life? Like you, perhaps?’ I’m kidding myself if I think I could have a chance with him even if he were gay. But I can’t help but hope. 

He brings up some old friends from high school and tells me how they’re doing now. He kept up with people a lot better than I have. He says that it’s mostly his stepmother Daphne’s doing. She forces all of the updates on him every time he goes home. We laugh about a few people that we can’t believe are parents now and about a couple others who are exactly where we would have expected.

A quiet falls as there’s a lull in the conversation and I take a good look at him. He looks exhausted.

“How are you holding up, Baz? I know things have been tough with the book sales not going the way you wanted them to lately.”

Baz’s eyes go razor sharp. “How do you know anything about that, Snow? How do you even know where I work?” He snaps.

My heart takes on the beat of a drummer in a heavy metal band. I feel my eyes go wide and my mouth drop open. I will myself to make an explanation or an excuse come out, but I can’t make myself speak.

“Well, Snow? Have you been stalking me again?” He spits in disdain. “I thought we had finished with all of that when we graduated. Is that why you tracked me down, pretended it was a coincidence?”

“No, Baz, I swear! It really was a coincidence! I work around the corner and the line at the Starbucks I normally go to was really long and so I came here. I didn’t follow you here.” I’m not explaining the part that really needs answering, but at least this part is true. 

His sneer gets slightly less malicious but it doesn’t drop. “Where do you work, then?” He asks, eyes narrowed. 

I don’t answer.

He barks out a harsh laugh. “And how did you know those things about me?”

I don’t answer.

His expression sours even more and he shoves his cup away from him. “Stay the fuck away from me, Snow.” He starts getting up from the booth.

“Baz, please wait a minute! I’ll explain everything.” I say in desperation. 

“I will, I can explain all of it. Please, Baz.”

He sits back down, his face a hard mask. “I’m waiting.”

I clear my throat and try to figure out where to start. “Baz, have you seen those- those memes about everyone having their own FBI agents?”

Baz nods his head infinitesimally and otherwise remains completely still. 

“Well, they aren’t completely accurate. People don’t have a personal agent assigned just to them. But we are, um, watching. That’s- that’s where I work.” 

“Are you trying to tell me that you are my _FBI agent_ and that you’ve been _watching me_ through my web camera?”

“Among,” I clear my throat, “among other things, yeah.”

“Is this you and Niall’s idea of some sort of prank?”

“No, Baz. I wish it was. But I saw that conversation happen. He was frustrated because of your smart thermostat. He, um, he was right. I was watching through the smart TV.”

“You were watching.”

“Yes.”

“And why do you expect me to believe that Niall didn’t just tell you all of that?”

“Would Niall have been able to tell me that the shirt I ruined yesterday was the one from the new Gucci spring collection that your aunt got you? Or that you bought Mordelia crystals and incense to support her in her endeavor to become a witch? Or that for some reason your girlfriend isn’t making sure you get home and to sleep at a reasonable time?”

I shouldn’t have added in that last one. Now isn’t the time to fish for information. But after everything else I’ve said, I can’t imagine we’ll make it out of this conversation without him hating me. I may as well find out while I can. 

“Surely if you had all of that information about me provided to you, there would be a file about my dating life. Why didn’t you check for yourself?” He says through gritted teeth, face flushed red.

“I never went into your dating history folder, Baz. They keep uh, personal photos in that folder as well. I didn’t want to invade your privacy like that.”

“Oh, you didn’t want to invade my privacy?” He laughs bitingly. 

“Well, if you had looked in my ‘dating history’ folder, you would’ve seen that I’m the gayest person you’ve ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with. Only you could have been stupid enough to make it through high school with me and not realize that.” He’s started on a rant now, and he’s not taking breaths between his words nearly as often as he should be. “Besides that, I’m a grown man and I’m fully able to take care of myself. I know your incompetence might lead you to believe that it’s a two person job, but I assure you that for me it is not. God, only you would think that not going into my nudes folder makes this okay. For fucks sake, the FBI has a folder of my nudes! Wonderful. Splendid.” 

“Baz I-” I start hesitantly when it seems like he’s finished. 

“You know what,” he cuts me off, “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any of it.” 

And just like that, he’s gone. Except this time, he’s left without making plans. This time, he’s left and I don’t have a hope of ever seeing him again. 

A few ladies at the next table over are staring at me. Excellent. I’m not allowed to tell anyone about the nature of my job, and now I’ve gone and shouted about it in a Peets Coffee. I’m going to be prosecuted for treason because I’m a gay disaster.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm looking for betas rn so if anyones interested please message me on Tumblr @manicmagicat and let me know or comment and let me know what the best way to get in touch with ya is! I’m looking mostly for someone that can do basic edits and proofreading and to help me talk through ideas / the direction of different fics :)  
> (AKA this chapter has not been betad my apologies lol)


	5. Lost Time

I’m an absolute disaster. I can’t believe I fucked that up so royally. I truly could not have said anything that would have made that any worse. God, it’s my job. But then again, it’s Baz. I didn’t have to watch him as closely as I did. I could have reported a conflict of interest and not looked at all. I didn’t have to do what I did. I invaded his privacy and I buggered this whole thing up and it's probably for the best because I don’t deserve him anyway. He sure as hell deserves more than someone that would do this to him. Did I really think not looking in his dating folder was enough? That I could watch him all day at home and at work and it would be okay just because I could’ve been even more creepy and invasive than I was already being? He was right to walk out on me. He would’ve been right if he had socked me in the face right then and there. Maybe I’ll let him, next time I see him. If I ever see him again. 

When I get to work the next morning, I report Baz as a conflict of interest. I say that we went to school together when we were much younger and went by a nickname so I didn’t realize it was the same person until now. It’s not unreasonable to think that it might’ve taken me that long to put it together if the connection was as distant as i made it seem and if I had been paying only the cursory attention I give to my other assignments to him. My superiors make a note of it and switch around a few of my assignments with little fuss. It was that easy. It was that easy, and I betrayed him anyway. I think about quitting, but no melodramatic gesture will undo what I did. Besides, I need the money. I’m lucky Davy is in charge of this place and I wouldn’t be able to get a job this good anywhere else. Disgraced former FBI agents are in hot demand. 

I spend a week like that, in and out of work like a zombie. Today is no different. I’m walking out of a day of work that I spent in moody silence, wantonly eating my sandwiches. I’m watching the gravel crunch under my dirty trainers when I bump into someone. I look up and see baz. But it can’t be him. Why would he want to see me? 

“We must stop meeting like this, Snow.” He says with a half-hearted smirk. 

“I- Baz-” I stutter.

“You really should look where you’re walking,” he says, face impassive.

“At least we didn’t have coffee this time,” I managed to choke out. And then I just stare at him, mouth gaping open, like an absolute idiot. At least I’m being honest this time, I suppose. He sighs and juts his chin towards the sidewalk, indicating for me to follow him. I do. I’d follow him anywhere. We wind up at a park. It’s about a ten minute walk away and we’re silent the whole time. I don’t know what he’s doing here. I don’t want to let myself hope it’s for anything good, but maybe I can keep it from being as bad as it could be. 

“Listen, Baz, I know this doesn’t make anything better or make up for anything I did but- but I just wanted you to know that I reported you as a conflict of interest for me last week. You’re not assigned to me anymore. I don’t have access to any of your information anymore. I should have done that from the beginning and I’m so sorry that I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you? Why did you watch?” he sighs out, like he’s been holding onto the question since that day he walked out. 

“I- I didn’t really know why at first. Look-” I growl, balling my hair in my hands. I take a deep breath and keep talking. I owe this much to him, at least. “You know I was obsessed with you at school. I followed you everywhere. People were always saying I was like a lost puppy. I guess I… I didn’t realize why I had been doing that. I didn’t realize what all of those feelings meant. I thought I was jealous of how fit and charming you were. When you first got assigned to me, I thought I was just curious about how an old school friend was doing. And then I saw you again. And by the time I realized, I didn’t know what to do or where to go from there. I wanted to talk to you so badly, but obviously we’re not allowed. I thought it was going to drive me crazy, the wanting. But when I started, I didn't know. I hadn’t realized.”

“Hadn’t realized what, Simon?” He asked on a breath. 

I swallow and it’s the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. I let my eyes flutter shut. I couldn't stand to look at him when I said it.

“I hadn’t realized that I was in love with you. That I am in love with you.”

For a long moment, there’s just silence. I begin to open my eyes, because I can’t bear not knowing. But I’ve hardly managed to get them open before I’m closing them again. Baz is on me in a flash, pressing his cool lips to mine. Everything about him is always so goddamn cool. I raise my hand to press against his chest and realize that this may mean as much to him as it does to me. His heart is pounding and I think his coolness may be a facade. I hope it is. I hope that I was the one that was able to break through it. 

We pull apart just a bit to catch our breath. His breath is shaky, coming out in little puffs against my face. All I can smell is the mint of his breath and the woodsy citrus smell of his cologne. This is so much better than watching him over a webcam. It’s so much better because I can smell him and feel him and kiss him. It’s so much better because he knows I’m watching and he’s letting me. 

I think Baz is the one that’s better with words and I would normally leave a moment like this to him. But after what I did, taking this one is the least I can do. I press my forehead to his and twist a hand into his silky black hair. He’s left it loose today and it’s falling in waves around his face. 

“Baz,” I say, trying to mask the tremor in my voice, “can I make sure you get to bed on time?” I’m hesitant and I know he can tell. I still don’t know if he’ll say yes. Just because he’s attracted to me - I’m pretty sure about that bit given recent events - doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll forgive me. He probably shouldn’t.

He lets out a low breathy laugh. 

“Is that your way of asking to be my boyfriend, Snow?”

I press another soft kiss to his lips. If he says no, I want to have one more kiss before it all comes crashing down around me. 

“Yes. I’d like to be your boyfriend, Baz. If you’ll have me.” He didn’t push me away when I kissed him. He hasn’t pulled away yet. That’s a good sign, right?

“Alright, Snow.”

“Simon. You called me Simon before.”

“Alright, Simon.” He chuckles. “It took you long enough to ask. You weren’t the only one that was a bit obsessive in high school. You definitely were the only one that acted like a lost dog, though.”

I think about making a biting comment or joke in response to that, but then I realize what a waste of time that would be when I could be kissing Baz. We have to make up for lost time, after all. I pull him into me. He’s warm and his lips are soft against mine. I breath in the smell of his absurd cedar and bergamout cologne and press myself closer to me. He’s intoxicating. The only thoughts running through my brain are Baz, Baz, Baz. And it’s so, so good. I could do this forever. I plan on doing this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Thank y'all so much for reading!!!! And doubly thank you to everyone that left kudos and comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Did I see an FBI meme and then decide to write this? Yes, yes I did. Shoutout to the amazing fic Paperback Writer by BasicBanshee for the dragon slag book Simon is reading and for the inspiration for publishing Baz!! Check it out if you haven't, it's one of my faves! Many thanks to @nikkisunshine as usual for helping me with this!! Let me know what y'all think and head over to my Tumblr @manicmagicat if you want to chat or just to stay updated!:)


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